A Sharp Little Friend
by DreadfullySweet
Summary: Every night while Bakura is out, Ryou locks himself in the bathroom with his only remaining friend. Except, Bakura finds out. Might have some humor, depending on how you look at it.
1. Chapter 1

Sigh I have decided to write a cutting fic. I may be completely out of my mind writing this, but I'm rather stubborn when I want to be, so bear with me.

Thank you for bother to get this far. Now, if you still want to, read the chapter.

Oh, and I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. I forgot to mention that in my last fic. Sorry.

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A Sharp Little Friend

By SarcasticallyShy

It was raining. A lot. It pounded on the glass of the windows, drowned the streets outside, and muddied the sidewalks. The continuous patter of the rain droned on the walls, door, and windows. It never ceased, not once.

And I didn't mind that, I was busy anyway.

I turned back to what I was doing, holding my hand steady over my left arm. If I didn't make this cut clean, it would bleed too much. And if it bled too much, it would be so much harder to hide.

I drew the blade across my arm, leaving a thin red line in its wake. The pain was sharp and clear, making me hiss slightly. The blood pooled then slipped out of the cut and down my arm. I continued this pattern, cutting, watching, and cutting again.

It was amazing that such a simple and slightly paining action could be so relaxing. It's like shuffling a deck of cards to calm you down but so much better. The blood flowing out of me was like all of my pain and sadness slipped out along with it. I felt so elated, just doing this, so I kept going.

My arm was nothing but a mass of red dyed skin now, the blood having covered my arm completely. I would have kept going, but I heard the front door slam down stairs. I cursed silently and hurried to clean away the blood in the sink. Bakura was home.

Bakura had a habit of going to the bar at around eight and coming back from around midnight to three in the morning. So I spent those lonely hours in the bathroom, with a pocket knife my father had given me once.

I grabbed some gauze from the medicine cabinet and wrapped my left arm quickly, not wanting Bakura to see. He didn't know that I was cutting, and I wanted to keep it that way.

The thud of foot falls got louder as Bakura approached the bathroom. Although, his bed room was right next to the bathroom, so it was possible that he was going to his bed room to sleep.

Why is it I'm never right?

Bakura banged the door open just as I managed to pull my sleeve down over my arm. Bakura's clothes were ragged and dirty, his hair a bit ruffled, and his breath stunk of alcohol. He had been at the bar, and probably got into a fight.

"H-hello Bakura," I stuttered out, hiding my arms behind my back. Bakura noticed and narrowed his eyes. With one thin, white hand, Bakura gripped the upper part of my left arm. He pulled it out in front of us and pulled back the sleeve. He saw the messy bandages and I caught a faint glimmer of curiosity before it was hidden by his usual mask of impatience. Then he did something that made my heart stop.

He started to undo the bandages.

Scared I struggled against his hold, desperately trying to get free and run to my room. I needed to get out of here before he found out; before he found out about my nightly ritual. He can't know, he just can't!

Bakura growled dangerously, warning me to be obedient or else. When I didn't stop struggling, his hand flew and connected painfully with my cheek. I stopped moving, stunned by what he'd done. While I was still, Bakura pulled the bandages off. Bakura looked so surprised, I wondered for a moment if he was going to drop in a dead faint.

Scars. Scars, cuts, bleeding cuts. Everywhere. There was no place that hadn't been cut on my arm. And I knew it, but I was afraid of what Bakura would say. As abusive as he was, I didn't know how he'd react to me hurting myself. He had quite literally beaten into me that I was his, and no one else's. Did that mean I couldn't hurt myself?

Bakura was silent for a long moment, too long for my comfort. Although, I wouldn't have wanted him to find out one way or another. That problem kind of came up on its own anyway, now didn't it? God, I wish I could cut right now. . . .

"What are these?" growled out Bakura. I flinched. His voice was quiet, but that was only a bad thing. The quieter his voice, the more dangerous he was.

"J-just some cuts. Nothing to worry about B-bakura." I swallowed hard. Damn it! I shouldn't have stuttered. Yes, the well mannered Ryou just cursed, I get it, now, let's move on.

"Oh, really?" sneered Bakura. Shit, this isn't good. "So, you just happened to get cut so cleanly for no reason at all, is that it?"

"I never said for no reason. . ." I murmured inaudibly. Apparently, I was wrong.

"So what is this reason? What could be so important that you'd have to cut yourself without my permission, hm?" Bakura jeered.

I could feel hot tears prickle behind my eyes but I refused to let them fall. "Nothing very important, I can assure you," I mumbled out. It wasn't very good, but I was getting scared senseless right now, so straight and logical thought escaped me at the moment. Who could blame me? The demon standing in front of me had tortured me endlessly since I was eight; it wasn't like I was just going to act like we were best friends all of a sudden. I'm a cutter, not suicidal.

Bakura struck me across the face and then punched me in the stomach. I fell back, gasping for breath. I stumbled into the bathtub and fell in, hitting my head on the wall. I cried out in pain.

Bakura smirked down at me, like a man who'd just won himself a prize. "I wouldn't cut myself if I were you, Yadonushi. I'll be checking your arms every night, when I come home. Even if you're asleep, I'll wake you up and if I see any more scars I didn't make, I'll beat the hell out of you. Good night, Yadonushi." Bakura turned and left.

I sighed. Rubbing my head, I climbed out of the tub and stumbled to my room, trying hard not to make too much noise as I did so. Once in the safe confines of my room, I started to cry. "If only. . ." I cried, tears welling up and flowing down my face.

I cried myself to sleep that night, dreaming of something that I thought only my blood could get. Thank god for my sharp little friend. . . .

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Yes! It took me all day just to finish this. That explains why it's a little choppy, only if you noticed. If you didn't, then just ignore the stupid writer at the computer!

Adios!


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, fine! I'll write another chapter. Jeeze! You people sure are pushy.

So I decided to go ahead and write a second chapter for this story because so many of my reviewers wanted me to. So, here it is.

I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, but you already knew that, didn't you?

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A Sharp Little Friend

_Chapter 2_

By SarcasticallyShy

_**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BE-**_

I glared blearily at my very loud and annoying alarm clock, wanting very badly to throw it against the wall. However, I was still very sleepy and it would wake up Bakura if I hit a very heavy object against the wall. So that notion was trampled as soon as it hatched.

Groggily, I slipped out of bed and grabbed a set of clothes, opened my door and headed into the bathroom. As I pulled off my shirt that I had worn yesterday (I hadn't taken it off when I went to bed the night before) I noticed that the cuts had bled throughout the night. I wouldn't have been surprised if there was blood on my bed where my arm had lain.

Ignoring it for the time being, and trying to suppress the erg to throw up, I slipped out of the rest of my clothes and turned on the shower. Once it was warm enough, I stepped in. I let the water wash over me, engulfing me, consuming me. My mind fogged over, my body relaxed and I just stood there under the water for who knows how long. I washed my hair, used soap (of course), cleaned up my cuts (taking pleasure in the sting it brought) and took a few more minutes to just stand in the onslaught of water.

Finally, after a half an hour, I emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed and in desperate need of food. So, listening to the grumblings of my stomach, I headed down stairs and into the kitchen where I proceeded to prepare some toast and a glass of orange juice. Sure, I cut my self, but that was now reason to not have a healthy beverage. Slowly, like water trickling through a barricade of rocks, the events of the previous night came back to me, and a new sense of dread filled my senses and made me shake slightly.

I remembered Bakura, what he found out, about my friend and my habit, his attack and his threat, which only just now started to sink in. I closed my eyes, willing the burning behind my eyes to go away as I realized I could no longer cut. That hit me hard, really hard.

But then it occurred to me: why did Bakura get mad at me for cutting my self? Wouldn't he have been happy that I was mutilating my self? That I was doing his job for him? I'd've thought he'd applaud me, though that wasn't such a good thing to get coming from my homicidal, sadistic, other self, now was it? I let out a deep sigh. I didn't think that dwelling on such questions would do any good and I felt a headache coming on anyway.

I cleaned up my plate and cup, which I couldn't remember drinking and eating out of, and gathered my things for school. After standing still and silent for few moments, I concluded that Bakura had stayed asleep throughout my morning routine. My backpack resting snuggly on my shoulder, I turned and headed toward the front door of my apartment.

Am I ever going to be right about anything!

Bakura stood, leaned up against the door, his arms crossed and his cold, cruel gazed fixed on me. Shivering slightly, I made my way cautiously over to him, keeping my head low and my eyes down, giving a submissive impression. This, I knew, would make my Yami more inclined to let me off easy, as opposed to walking tall and confident with my head up and eyes challenging. I wasn't stupid, not by a long shot.

The pale Yami grinned, in a sick, twisted way, his sharp canines poking out, and spoke in a mocking tone, "So, Yadonushi," lips curled back, "did you do anything . . . bloody this morning?"

I knew he was talking about cutting, and I knew that the best (and only) answer to give was no. But it still surprised me at how he was hounding me on such a small issue. However, this took me all of .54 seconds to think so I answered, "No."

"Good," nodded Bakura, and he vanished into the ring. It puzzled me for a moment as to why he would just take my word for it instead of checking like he did the night before. Then it occurred to me that he could tell if I was lying or not through our mind link, allowing him to know without having to ask. But then, he must have been to drunk last night to think of it instead of checking like he did.

"Then what was the point of asking me!"

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Sorry if it's too short for you, but I'm still thinking about how I should approach the whole school thing. Ideas will be greatly accepted.

_(Bows)_ Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

I've got it! I've got it! I know how to approach this new chapter!

Um, yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhh.

So anyway, here is the next chapter of the story, at school, and I hope you enjoy it.

Oh, and people, it'd be nice if you reviewed, ya know.

Do I really need a disclaimer? Seriously, if you don't know I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh by now, you have serious issues

and/or ADD.

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A Sharp Little Friend

_Chapter 3_

By SarcasticallyShy

Grey, that sort of I'm-going-to-rain-but-only-when-you-don't- have-an-umbrella grey; It swirled around at a sluggish pace, but when you looked up again, the cloud's formation had changed and it's darker and lighter areas had changed places; It covered the whole sky, roof to roof, building to building, horizon to horizon.

That's how the sky looked when I gazed up at it from outside my apartment building. The streets were wet, small rivers flowing down it.

"Odd," I mumbled, "I don't remember it raining."

I trudged down the sidewalk, being careful to stay out of any deep puddles. It was a strange thing, walking to school. I walked there every year, the same route for over half the year, and yet, if you asked me, I wouldn't have been able to tell you exactly how to get to my home. I knew the way, sure, but only by instinct; I rarely ever remembered how I got to and from school. All I know is that I can get to both places without even having to think about how to get there. Hn.

The school came within sight and I could see Yugi-tatchi standing outside the gate, chatting and laughing with each other. They were all there: Yugi, Jounouchi, Honda, Anzu. But not me.

A small, sarcastic smile played across my lips as I thought of it. They had gotten self-involved and egotistic, the lot of them. I had noticed and tried to get them to change before it was too late. Unfortunately, I had been too late to act. They simply told me that I was insane and that Bakura was really in control, not me, and told me to let go of Ryou's mind. But it was me! My mind! Bastards, couldn't even tell their own friend--- no, x-friend---from a 3,000 year old spirit. Perceptive, aren't they?

After that incident, I abandoned them. Well, in truth, they abandoned me, since I wouldn't have been able to get close to them whether I wanted to or not. We didn't talk, didn't make eye contact, they were even mean to me. Jou had placed laxatives in my sandwich. Honda framed me for tagging on the school building. Even Anzu spread rumors around that I was a she-man. She's more of a she-man then I am!

With a deep breath, I calmed the anger that raged within me and passed the group of bastards quickly and quietly. I didn't bother to look back until I had made it to the front door. They hadn't noticed me. Good, I didn't need that this morning.

After putting my extra things in my locker, I headed to my first class---English. We were taught how to speak, write and read in English there, and most students' dubbed it the worst class ever (second, of course, to P.E.) However, living in England for about half your life had its perks. I always got an A in that class.

I slid open the door and sunk into my seat, set up my books correctly and with a slight perfectionist way, and sat there, watching all the students file in. It was another hobby of mine, though not as satisfying as cutting, but it was interesting watching how normal people acted. How their faces lit up at good news or the arrival of a secret (or not so secret) crush, how some had that just-rolled-out-of-bed look: eyes half closed, hair mused and pace slow. Every one of them had their own air or appearance, all unique in certain ways. My people-watching came to a halt when the teacher stepped in after grabbing a late cup of coffee. I don't know if that's even allowed.

"Good morning students," greeted the teacher (who happened to be Mr. Takashi).

"We have quite a lot to get done," continued Mr. Takashi, "so if you'd all just shut up for the remainder of the class. Alright, I want you all to write an essay on what song you can best relate to. Any song, I don't care. It can have every cuss word in the book, as long as it's written well, I don't give a damn. Three pages, due next Monday. You have the rest of the class period to get started. Oh, and shut up." With that, Mr. Takashi sat down and pulled out a book titled Heartthrob _by Shigure Sohma_ (1). I had a bad feeling about that book. . . .

But now, what to do about that essay? I don't listen to many songs; I like to occupy myself with my two hobbies and avoiding Bakura in a bad mood at all costs. Music never made its way into the plan. What to do, what to do. . . .

My arms itched. I really, really, really itched. I started to scratch at it. As my nails raked against my flesh, I felt something warm and wet and sticky touch my fingers. My eyes widened as I watched the blood seep through my sleeve. Damn!

I raised my hand, rather timidly at first, but with my problem at hand, I convinced myself enough to call out "Mr. Takashi?"

The teacher didn't even look up just waved his hand towards the door, as if he already knew what I was going to ask. I wasn't about to discipline him mentally for it, though, because my reason would've made him say no.

After escaping, I raced toward the bathrooms as fast as my loud feet would permit, trying to keep blood from spilling onto the ground. My heart was pounding a mile a minute and my breathing was labored, I was panting and gasping with worry and fear. Cold sweat dripped down my face as my vision clouded with a brand new headache complete with mallet to hit my cranium with attacked me with full force.

God, I hate Mondays. . . .

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(1) In book 2 of Fruits Baskets, Shigure tells Tohru that he's an author and to prove it, he shows them alltwo of his books. The second book is called Heartthrob (I know because I read it) and it's a, well, a naughty book, if you get my drift.

That's all I got so far. Now, what song should I do? I was thinking Welcome to My Life by Simple Plan, but if you have any suggestions, by all means e-mail me or review and tell me and I'll take it into account when I draw the winner out of a hat.

Anyway, please review and tell me your song ideas!


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